


Closer

by ameerkatofficial



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crushes, Gay, Introspection, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Smut, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameerkatofficial/pseuds/ameerkatofficial
Summary: During "PTA Meeting", Cecil fantasizes about Carlos, and vice versa...





	1. To Carlos

**Author's Note:**

> this is p gay ngl

_"Now I'm thinking maybe...I was stoned..."_

_I felt my feet...lift off the ground..._

_And my heart was...screamin' ...at my bones..."_

Cecil laid back in his chair, the mic crackling comfortably as he felt heat like sweet smoke wrap around himself from the board running, humming, working, working, working so terribly hard to send this woman's voice on air. It rang through, sweetly and wonderfully, giving only a little crackle through his old, sand-blasted speakers. He'd ask the managers for a replacement, but from the low rumbling and impending sense of doom emanating from their door, he thought perhaps not.

It was fine like this, anyhow. It made everything feel warm, fuzzy...

_"I need you closer..._

_As he's in the middle...of the street..._

_Oh...I pretend...he's mind...to keep..._

_Cars are runin' fast on both sides...of his head..."_

Cecil's body felt awfully still then, almost like he was dead at last. But he wasn't dead, no, he was very much alive. He felt every part of him too intensely, warm, fuzzy, tingling, buzzing, his lips, his cheeks, every hair follicle on his face, his head, his body. His clothes felt like static, and his gaze quickly flicked down to his chest, wondering if it were somehow collapsing beneath his crisp, white shirt, caving in like a black hole, or like pixels that were being eaten and eaten into oblivion.

_"His eyes say...'Closer'..."_

They were dark, darker than the blackest sky that hung over them, especially when the moon stepped out to who knows where the moon went. It was the moon, after all, who knows what the moon liked? Where their friends, their family was? Perhaps they had gone to watch a game, go to a park, walk a dog, but not at the _dog park..._

His eyes were dark like the oblivion that carved a hole into Cecil's chest, like the void that one entered between sleep and death, darker than the sight behind one's eyelids, no matter how heavy they were. Cecil found himself drowning in those eyes on the rare occasions he managed to catch sight of them. Not that he didn't find that fine, of course, to drown, like in tar, to be consumed for millennia, only to have his corpse found, like some artifact, amongst mammoths and microraptors. If only it was in _his eyes._

_"Closer...closer..."_

Cecil found that his tie had come undone, and was now hanging down either side of his neck. His fingers moved to their own accord, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt, then the next...his fingers were curious if it was true, if his chest had caved in, gave way to nothing but inky black oblivion, or even tar. They wandered down slowly, tickling his neck, his collar bones, and then...

_...and then..._

And then there was nothing. His fingers fell through nothing. There was just thin air, but it was nice and warm, _pressing_ against his fingers despite the lack of any presence, any mass.

_"I met him...when the sun...was down..."_

He wondered if perhaps he could perchance meet him properly one day. One day when their separate duties weren't consuming their lives for the good of the community, both literally and metaphorically. Cecil drifted then, lying back, thinking of seeing him once upon a dark twilight, just as the bar closed and their eyes were both pleasantly puffed from lack of sleep. His hair would be back, of course, returned rightfully to him, thick and dark and long and lovely, enough hair for Cecil to get lost in, like a river of night with no stars to navigate him. He wouldn't want to find his way out, anyhow. No, Cecil would want to die there.

They stood beneath a streetlamp, a single yellow beam illuminating them weakly, as they returned wan smiles at one another, seeing then how truly lonely the other was.

Was the good scientist lonely?

Cecil wondered...

...and secretly _hoped..._

_"Closer...closer..._

_...closer...closer..."_

He leaned forward then with a soft groan rumbling his sweet, sweet bass, feeling suddenly breathless as his hand continued to run through his chest in a frenzy, still pushing in, pulling out, finding nothing, nothing, _nothing there at all! Where had his chest gone?_

But the song continued on, and his fingers migrated up instead, to his lips, poking at them softly. They were soft, slightly numb, and still they tingled as he pushed further in, until he felt wet, felt dampness, felt his tongue, felt like it was something foreign to him in his mouth, swirling curiously at his teeth and fingers, a friendly creature that had taken residence within him.

His fingers fell further...

_"But you're close...enough to lose..._

_Close...to the point...where you know that your mind..._

_It cannot...choose..."_

His knuckle was poised between his white teeth, strong and sharp, ready to suddenly crunch down, consume his fingers down into his throat, something to fill the hole in his chest with, flesh at last, _flesh at last!_

But his finger remained trapped there, buzzing in frustration, wanting to go out, go in, go anywhere at all but in this void between his teeth and lips, in a liminal space, a passageway into him. His other hand came up to comb anxiously through his snow white hair, wanting to rip it away, but he gripped it instead like his teeth gripped his knuckle. He gave a desperate moan, wanting to cry out for help, cry out for _him!_

_"Close enough to lose..._

_Close enough to...lose..._

_...your...heart..."_

He was sweating rivulets now, his white hair askew, but he slowly came back upright, unfurling like a blossom, his violet eyes blinking in adjustment, as silent tears fell, rolling down, down his flushed face.

His throat rolled down along with them, hands and heart quaking, throat dry as he panicked, watching the seconds run out on the clock, and he had just realized that he was bare-chested-- _chested..._

His chest had come back!

With shaking hands, quivering Cecil grabbed hold of the mic, pressing it once to his lips for good luck.

And then he sat back...and then he breathed once...

_In...out...in..._

_Now!_

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received word from secret police, that the rip in spacetime that opened at last night's PTA meeting has been _sealed...at last!_ "

 


	2. To Cecil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is listening to Cecil's radio show while he works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uMM

_"Now I'm thinking maybe...I was stoned..."_

_I felt my feet...lift off the ground..._

_And my heart was...screamin' ...at my bones..."_

Carlos sat at his desk, watching the clock. He sat and sat and sat. And sat. He watched. He watched hard, harder, until he felt the inside of his head tick-tick-ticking, wondered if his eyes had grown little black arrow-hands as well.

He sat up and blinked, shaking his head. No, this wasn't right, things like that didn't happen, eyes couldn't become clocks, couldn't grow hands and arrows. People couldn't be anything other than people.

But stranger things seemed to happen in this damned town.

Carlos stretched, peering at the clock. It seemed fine, normal, ticking just how clocks should tick. Surely it was fine. Surely he was imagining things. Surely, he needed a break. He was starting to feel fuzzy, tingly along his hands. His long, tan fingers wriggled and wiggled in the air ahead of him, before he turned to his fresh cup of coffee, his fuzzy, tingly hand wrapping around the handle of the mug. The scientist tipped his mug to his lips, and waited...

_...and waited..._

_...this cup is empty..._

Carlos didn't recall drinking it.

_"I need you closer..._

_As he's in the middle...of the street..._

_Oh...I pretend...he's mind...to keep..._

_Cars are runin' fast on both sides...of his head..."_

Carlos leaned back in his chair for some moments like this, his arm raised, coffee mug in hand, waiting, waiting, waiting...

"Huh..."

With a sigh, he finally laid the mug down with a soft clink upon the edge of the desk, though he remained leaned back in his chair, his hands coming up to his head, running through his hair. He had forgotten suddenly that he had had a haircut, and was somewhat startled by how short it was. He really didn't mind it at this length, but he had only asked for a trim...he found that he missed toying with his curls...

Still, his colleagues had been telling him he was due for a haircut.

Carlos scratched gently at his scalp, tugging at whatever curls he could manage to grab at, his one hand coming down to rub at the side of his neck, pinching, rolling. He sighed again. The sigh was loud.

He felt light, tingly, as if he were being electrocuted, but he didn't move. It was nice, after all, a gentle static rolling through him. He deserved to feel something nice, after all, for once. Especially after moving to this town...

And he felt _very_ nice...

_"His eyes say...'Closer'..."_

His gaze wandered to the edge of his desk, a little piece of paper that had precise creases along the edges. It had been presented to him as a paper crane, after all, which was somewhat strange. The little piece of paper read "Cecil--Call me XO" inside, along with a phone number, all written in a flowery script. The pen's ink was just slightly violet, like his eyes, like the dusky skies in this far-off desert town, just as the stars came out from hiding. Some would say that an entertainment personality like Cecil would have done that on purpose, but Carlos knew from the way the man smiled, nerves edging the corners of his lips, that Cecil probably wasn't even aware of the color of his own eyes, nor how gorgeous they were.

But if a scientist couldn't appreciate beauty, then he was no better than a computer.

Carlos smiled softly, fingers coming down from his neck to rub his shoulders. Cecil was a friendly man, perhaps a tad _too_ friendly, but everyone had their quirks, himself included. Perhaps he'd call the man, if he had the time, of course.

_"Closer...closer..."_

He hadn't the time for anything these days, much less friends. He waved to Old Woman Josie every so often when he passed her by in the supermarket. He'd say hello, she'd say hello, he'd ask how she was doing, she said fine, he agreed that he was fine as well. But he wasn't fine. Not in the slightest.

"Oh..."

He rubbed a little too roughly into his own shoulders, stress leaving them like smoke, but it felt wonderful, wonderful, _wonderful..._

Carlos pushed slightly away from his desk, his chair rolling back. He stretched his legs, before his palms squeezed into the tops of his thighs, trying to rub the static out, but it felt collecting, kept building, building, his teeth gritting along with it, feeling unsatisfied, but he was getting there, he was getting there--

_\--and then--_

Carlos ceased with a gasp, his throat rolling down as he stared at the lights above him. He knew what he felt then, as one stray curl stuck to his forehead, he knew what he felt, but he couldn't, not _here,_ not _now_. The fluorescent lights dazzled his eyes, and he breathed in, breathed out, neck tilted back over his thick, black chair. His hands drew up further despite themselves as his tongue slipped between his teeth, biting down. He untucked his shirt.

_"I met him...when the sun...was down..._

_The bar was closed..._

_We both have had no sleep..._

_My face beneath the street-lamp..._

_It reveals what it is...lonely people seek..."_

The sun was close to setting now, the air becoming colder, crisper, violet like Cecil's pen. His mind was absently drifting toward him, as if pulled by some force. He wondered how the guy was...

His hand wondered too, pondering between his thighs, his trousers undone. His legs were numb, feeling like static, their substance sucked away into some void, some blackness out there, beyond the stars, and he wanted to desperately to get them back.

Carlos breathed in.

He stretched back and drifted, his hand pressing around, pressing tight, as he felt static surround him, felt something like the stuff of the void come to surround him. And yet, it was a comforting presence surrounding him, pulling him deeper.

_"Closer...closer..._

_...closer...closer..."_

He gripped his hair, pushing back in his chair, a low groan pulling from him. Carlos never felt quite so weightless before, quite so frustrated as he tried so desperately to regain control of himself, of his skin.

_"But you're close...enough to lose..._

_Close...to the point...where you know that your mind..._

_It cannot...choose..._

_Close enough to lose..."_

Carlos' heart felt weightless, yet sunken in, pulled to his back, and still further. His chest was collapsing, his breathing growing faster. His oaky, low voice groaned softly, as the clock tick-tick-ticked, slower, _slower..._

_"Close enough to...lose..._

_...your...heart..."_

Carlos bent inward into himself, shouting into the dark, shouting into the void, the static, the fuzz. He could fly, he could scream, he was screaming.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received word from secret police, that the rip in spacetime that opened at last night's PTA meeting has been sealed...at last!"_

"Cecil!"

The scientist awoke. He cried that out at the last moment, as his hand flew to his chest, flew _through_ his chest, he had no chest-- _where had it gone?_

Carlos screamed again, panting horribly, sweat running down his face, matting his dark curls to his forehead. He looked down into the void, and he felt his soul slowly crumbling away, piece by piece, his sanity, his heart and mind and the rest of his internal organs along with it.

Until...until it suddenly closed up, the void phasing out of him, away, and he was left with his tawny brown chest, his black hairs, his sweat and blood and skin and bone. 

Carlos looked ahead, looked to the clock that he had just kicked. It had fallen onto its face. Grey slime was oozing across the desk. Carlos adjusted his glasses, swiftly tucking himself back into his trousers, as Cecil's cheery tone continued ringing through the radio's speakers.

"Cecil?"

He needed to investigate.

He needed to warn  _Cecil._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUHUWAUHWUHAOHRUGRGHGHGH

**Author's Note:**

> oh man oh man ohmanohman...


End file.
